The Broken Earth

Every morning was the same monotonous shit. It always was. It seemed it always had been. He hated to admit it but Arthur had to realise every time he prized his eyes open at the start of the day hoping, praying even, that the previous decade had been a horrible nightmare he would have to face another day in his own personal hell. Arthur Payne’s own private hell; no one else’s…

Hell, he didn’t even know if there was anyone left to share this torture. ‘Torture? That’d be a luxury right now,’ he laughed as he realised what he’d just thought. Sure enough Arthur’s thoughts returned to their usual waking topic; self pity. ‘Bloody typical; I’m lucky to still be here and all I can do is wallow… I wouldn’t care if it wasn’t for the loneliness though.’

Tears streamed down his face. One more day alone for Arthur Payne and all he can do is cry? Pathetic. It’s a good thing he was alone! If anyone had seen what he’d been reduced to it would be sickening. Another long weep to start the day before the day began; another reminder of what pain was… Another reminder he wasn’t experiencing a bad dream.

Arthur shifted his back on the floor, spreading his arms out at his sides to push himself up when the usual ache greeted him. Starting in his lower back and spreading up his spine the warm pain jolted him awake as he groaned loudly. Oh pain, his best and worst friend; always there for him but always leading to hurt. It took a minute to conjure the will to sit up. It became more difficult with every passing day, that cruel mistress Time wasn’t going to go easy on him but he probably deserved it for sleeping on a granite floor each night. Slowly but surely Arthur knelt on the floor, wiping sweat and tears from his face.

The bathroom was only a few feet away from him but at this time in the day it seemed like a mile. Arthur raised his left hand and glanced at his watch hesitantly. It was four o’clock in the morning. Why in the hell did he wake up so early? He gritted his teeth and frowned deeply; there was no way he’d ever get back to sleep in this state so he might as well start early. Gradually he stood up, straightening his aching back as slowly as he could so he didn’t pull a muscle. A pulled muscle would surely be a disaster.

He snorted in disgust at how bitter that sounded in his head. From self pity to self loathing in the space of a few seconds; what a pathetic bastard he had become. He hated everything in this flashing instant of madness. He hated humanity, he raged at the world and God and all of his creations but most of all he detested himself right now. A poor survivor with the name of an old man and the attitude of a manic depressive.

Striding slowly into the improvised kitchen he called a bathroom at this present time, he stared at his reflection in the mirror he hung above the sink. If you were to say one thing about Arthur Payne it would have to be that he was not aging well; at only thirty-five he looked at least twenty years older. His once dark brown eyes now seemed somewhat glazed and his shoulder length hair, untidy beard and thick eyebrows were full of grey streaks amongst the black mess. The once noble looking nose had been bent out of shape after too many blows to the face and his cheeks, barely visible through all the hair on him, were covered in bruises and scars. Arthur glared at his reflection and sneered. That’s one of the problems with the current situation; no easy way of looking after one’s personal appearance.

However, at least there were some good points. His teeth were immaculate due to his recent discovery of a toothbrush and all of the activities he needed to carry out on a daily basis had done wonders for his physique.

He really needed to clean himself up. If not just for reassurance, but to ensure that at least hygiene is passed on as part of society’s legacy. ‘A legacy that could very well end with me,’ Arthur thought. Filling the sink with cold water he pulled a cut-throat razor from a nearby drawer and carefully dragged it across his chin, cheeks and lip. Blood oozed from various old cuts reopened by the razor and dripped into the water. He’d almost forgotten that it hurt like a bitch to use a cut-throat razor to shave without something on his face first… ‘I’d kill for some shaving foam about now.’